*
"And then she goes, 'The Chip'?" Kirsten looked confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"No clue," Alicia said, popping another french fry in her mouth. "Came out of nowhere, 2 AM, no warning."
"And she's never talked in her sleep before?" Sean asked, concerned. Alicia looked at him, half-chew, and suddenly realized that Dawn could use a little loyalty here.
"Well," she covered, "She's never said anything before. But you know how everyone says things in their sleep every once in a while?" She shrugged nonchalantly. "I have to sleep in the same room as my sisters whenever we go on vacation, and Katie once sat right up in bed, middle of the night, and accused me of stealing her duck."
"Your sister has a duck?" Kofi raised an eyebrow significantly. "I thought you lived in the middle of Boston?"
"Exactly; she doesn't have a duck, we've never had a duck, there is NO DUCK. But the little weirdo wouldn't shut up until I told her 'okay, here's the duck'!" Alicia spread her hands triumphantly, as though her point was proven.
"So you gave her a duck anyhow…" Kofi was obviously behind the learning curve on this one, and Alicia dropped her head on the dining hall table, groaning.
"No," Sean ignored Alicia's histrionics and tried to explain.
"I think what she's saying – inasmuch as I EVER understand what Lise is talking about," and he yelped as Alicia kicked him under the table without lifting her head. "Ow - is that the duck wasn't the thing that mattered. Sometimes people just say whacked-out stuff in their sleep; it has nothing to do with their lives. Right?" He looked at Alicia, pointedly rubbing his shin.
"Yeah, exactly." Alicia sighed and propped her chin up on her folded arms. "I mean, what could 'The Chip" mean?"
"Maybe she's got a huge gambling debt we don't know about in Vegas because she lost a thousand-dollar chip," suggested Kirsten. "She had to move from California because the casino's got goons on her tail and now she's masquerading as a student. She's really 25 and has an ex-con husband."
"Or maybe she meant 'CHiPS'," Brian offered. "You know, she's got a secret lust for Erik Estrada and calls his name out in the middle of the ni…." He stopped, looking queasy. "No, that can't be it, I've just grossed myself out."
"Chip, like 'Chip'n'Dale'?" Kofi ventured.
Sean choked on his soda. "The Chippendales? I don't think she's that kind of girl, Kofi."
Kofi rolled his eyes at Sean. "Chip. And. Dale. You know, the cartoon chipmunks? The one with the red nose who's always idiotic? Chippendales, heh – where the heck is YOUR mind?" He looked askance at Sean. "Then again, Dawn having a thing for a big, dumb animal? Maybe you're onto something."
"Hunh?"
"Ahem?" Kirsten elbowed Kofi significantly, and he dropped the subject. "Besides, that's Dale with the red nose - Chip's the really irritable one. If you're gonna insult him, at least get it right."
"How 'bout this." Christopher leaned forward. "Maybe she's got a secret government chip that's been implanted in her brain, and one day she'll go all 'Alias'-assassin-spy on us." He grinned. "That'd be pretty cool, actually."
"Or," Alicia announced, rejoining the conversation, "Maybe she was having a totally mundane dream about baking cookies and she suddenly realized that she'd forgotten to add the dream-chips." She fidgeted a little. "Besides, I don't think she's feeling too well. She got up at around 3 AM to finish writing her paper, and when I left this morning at eleven, she asked me to hand it in for her 'cause she was going to stay home and rest." She frowned at her sandwich. "I hope she's all right."
"Did she look sick?" Kirsten asked.
"No, just a little pale – I don't think she really slept that well. I hope it doesn't have anything to do with the scrape she got last night, like it got infected or anything." Alicia sighed, playing with her straw wrapper. She crumpled it up and tossed it on her tray in irritation. "I'm not going to be back until late tonight, too – I've got play rehearsal until about ten."
Sean swallowed hurriedly. "D'you think she'd mind if I checked on her?" He looked anxiously at Alicia, and she smiled at him. "I mean, I could knock on her door when I get back from lecture, maybe bring her a sandwich or something."
Kirsten winked at Alicia across the table, and Alicia held back a laugh. "Yeah, she'd probably be fine with it." Sean nodded a little nervously. "You can tell her that I asked you to, if you want," she added, and he quirked a smile at her, relieved.
Brian looked at his watch and groaned. "All right, gang, back to the salt mines!" he announced. He pointed at Kirsten and Alicia. "And you two, you're walking into trig with me. There is no way in hell that I'm getting stuck partnered with Marcus the Mathematician again – I barely finish the first problem set and find out he's already gone and solved cold fusion." He picked up his tray and strode off, the two girls tagging along behind him.
"So," Sean turned to Christopher, "Should I bring Dawn ginger ale? I think that's good for sick people…"
Christopher covered his eyes with his hand, laughing. "Dude, you are SO WHIPPED. And you haven't even gone on a date yet!" He put his head down on the table, chuckling madly.
"Not yet," Sean said under his breath. But he was grinning.
After Alicia left, Dawn had stared at the phone for hours, wondering what to do. Curled up on her bed in the fetal position, she felt herself zone out, then suddenly snap back into panicky focus again and again. The urge to call Buffy was so strong, so familiar, she found herself reaching for the phone a couple of times unconsciously. Then she would grab her hand back as though the phone had burned her; there was no way to ask Buffy about this one, no time. Besides, Buffy had worked so hard to send her here, had FOUGHT to make this chance possible – it would be unfair to drag her back into all of that weirdness.
No, Dawn told herself, this is a different battle. My battle.
The first thing she did was call information, trying to get an address on Spike's number. She was pretty surprised to find that Directory Inquiries didn't hand addresses out, only phone numbers. Hmmmm. She tried the internet a couple of times, too, but no luck. Finally, she decided to come back to the problem later. As a last resort, she put the number on her Away Message.
"Know which area this number is in? CALL ME." Dawn read it back to herself and snorted. Like a needle in a haystack. She turned off the monitor so it wouldn't distract her and moved on to the next step.
She looked out the window. Sunny afternoon, if cold. The snow had melted a bit overnight, and someone had been plowing all of the paths. She half-smiled to herself. It was pretty out. She took one last look, then pulled the blinds all the way down, darkening the room completely.
Dawn switched on the overhead lamp and locked the door, then turned to the mirror. The light was dim, two of the bulbs having burned out without being replaced and the third valiantly illuminating as much as it could. Just enough light to see the state she was in. She hadn't changed out of the tank top and sweats she slept in, and her hair hung around her face in a tangled cascade. Right, she thought, picking up a brush.
With long, hard strokes she soon had her hair sleek and smooth, and expertly bound it up in an elastic band at the nape of her neck. A few well-placed bobby pins secured any of the shorter chunks. She pulled a length of black leather, borrowed illegally from Buffy, out of her jewelry box. She wrapped it securely around the ponytail, tying it off in a series of square knots. That done, she took a deep breath before pulling off her tank top and sliding her sweats off her legs.
The fuzzy inside of the sweats didn't part with her right shin easily, having attached itself to the Band-Aids over the past few hours. Dawn ignored the snagging material and pulled harder, taking most of the bandages off with the pants. She bent down to examine the cut; true to Alicia's word, it was shallow, but long. Dawn peeled back the rest of the Band-Aids to discover the gash had completely scabbed over, thanks to all of the first aid cream Alicia had slathered on it. She tipped some water from her Poland Springs bottle onto a tissue and gently washed off the extra blood. When she was done, she tested her weight on the injured leg.
A little numb, maybe, but it would do. The wound wasn't threatening to split, either, which was always good news. She rubbed more cream into it, and turned to the mirror.
The scars stared back at her. No matter how many times she got injured, nothing was as shocking as those thin lines that danced around her torso. They never overlapped, and were all so uniform, so precise. She turned a little to one side; as thin as she was, she would never be able to wear a bikini on the beach. The scars were just too weird to be accidents.
She'd tried a bikini on, once, while shopping with Janice. She hadn't even been able to leave the changing room. Under the fluorescent lights the silvery lines had practically glowed, and Dawn had suddenly been reminded of gills. That's exactly what they looked like: gills. Sloping up from her center, almost parallel with the ribs just below the skin. She traced her fingers over them gently. One day, she'd find someone who she could tell all of this to, all of the crap that clogged up her life and the lives of her friends. And with him, she could wear a bikini and show him her scars and they'd both laugh about how she looked like a new-age mermaid.
She sighed. Enough of that.
She quickly changed into new underwear, picked out a sports bra. The next choices should have been more complicated, but Dawn unerringly grabbed a pair of olive cargo pants, a close-fitting black t-shirt, and a black turtleneck fleece. She laid them out on the bed carefully, considering them. She'd been waiting for this, she realized. Maybe not this occasion exactly, but something like it. Since September, she'd always known that this would be the outfit to choose. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd seen herself going out into the night in these clothes. Dawn shook her head. Never went away, really, did it? Even if you thought you'd forgotten… she shut her eyes tightly. Enough.
She pulled on the t-shirt, carefully avoiding her hair, and smoothed it down over her scarred ribs. The cargo pants fit snugly at her waist; she gave them a few experimental tugs, but the waistband didn't threaten to go past her hipbones. Thank god for hips, she thought to herself. Hipster jeans were well and good, but to have them slide right off at a crucial moment? Not so thrilling.
The black fleece was a relatively new acquisition. Alicia's cousin, Felicity, had driven over from the University of Vermont one weekend and they'd gone on a huge shopping trip at the outlet malls. This North Face fleece had called to her immediately, with its tailored lines and pockets hidden everywhere. Alicia and Flick had tried to convince her to buy a yellow or red version, but now, with the zipper pulled right up to her neck, Dawn knew that she had made the right choice. The black thermal material fit like a second skin, hugging even the column of her neck close. She held her own gaze in the mirror. With her hair tied back so severely, the oval of her face hovering just above a sea of black, she looked a little bit deadly. She lifted her head higher, pulled her facial muscles into an impassive mask. Impassive and deadly.
The phone shrilled, making her jump. Heart thumping, she picked up the handset and steadied her breathing. "Hello?"
"Hey, Dawn?" A chirpy, french-accented voice echoed down the line.
"Yeah? Jean-Paul?" She slumped against her bedpost, relief making her a little shaky. "What's up?"
"You're not answering your IM."
"Oh, yeah." She looked at the monitor. "Sorry, JP, I turned off the monitor. I, uh," she thought quickly, "I was taking a nap."
"Ah, sorry! Do you want to call me back later, then? I didn't know…" he stopped. "Hey, it's 5:00. You feeling okay?"
"No, I'm just a little tired, it's fine," Dawn sighed, rubbing her eyes. That much was true, at least. "Go ahead, what did I miss on IM?"
"That phone number?" Dawn rocketed to her feet, clutching the phone.
"You know it?" she asked, amazed.
"Unfortunately, I have to admit I do," JP replied ruefully. Dawn heard a quiet beeping from his end of the line. A cell phone, maybe? "You know that often I stay here for summer term, yes?"
"Yes - I mean, I do know that." Dawn paced, waiting.
"Well, that means a lot of hanging around in town, and it gets hot, and we all get bored..."
Dawn interrupted. "But the number?"
"Yeah, well, I have it stored on my mobile, cell, whatever you want to call the phone that you carry around with you. It's the ice cream stand off of the highway, that big long one that makes those huge ice cream sundaes that no one can eat?"
Dawn thought quickly. "Bruckert's?"
"Yeah! That's it… they have weird hours, we sometimes call before going out there; otherwise, it's a long trip back on the bus. Takes about half an hour to get out there from campus." JP seemed to realize that he was wandering and came back to the topic. "But Dawn, it opens in late May, early June, something of that sort. So don't bother ringing now, it'll just be a machine."
"No, no – I won't," Dawn replied absently. "I won't. Thanks, JP."
"Why did you need it anyway?" he asked curiously.
Dawn laughed a little. "I just found the number on a piece of paper, was wondering if it was important."
"Ah, okay. Well, I have to get to rehearsal. Is Alicia coming tonight?"
"What?" Oh, oh, play rehearsal, of course! "Yeah, she should be there."
"Should I tell her that you are unwell?"
"No! No, tell her I'm feeling much better," she scrambled, "…after that nap. I'll talk to her later; tell her I might be out for a bit."
"Okay, then! Have a good night!"
"Thanks, JP, you too. And thanks for the number!" Dawn hung up the phone and looked at the clock blankly. Five in the afternoon, and she had to get over to Bruckert's. She'd have to get out the door by 5:30 to even have a prayer of getting there in time. She tossed the phone on her bed and strode over to her closet.
She reached in and rummaged around in the back of the cabinet, finally pulling out a pair of Doc Marten boots. She yanked them on quickly, giving sharp tugs to the laces as she bound them up. Satisfied, she knelt in front of the closet again and rooted deeper. Out from the back she dragged a small wheeled suitcase, one of the ones her mother had always called the "air stewardess" suitcases, even long after they'd become widely popular. She hauled it across the room and tossed it on Alicia's unmade bed. Taking a deep breath, she unzipped the top and laid it open.
A plain cardboard box fit snugly inside the luggage, marked with Dawn's address in bold block letters. The return address was smaller, but as Dawn pulled the container out and set it on her bed, the familiar logo looked up at her.
"Magic Box," she sighed to herself. And hidden in the back of the closet for a damn good reason, she thought. But was she glad to have it now… She untucked the cardboard corners and folded back the edges of the box to reveal a mass of contraband that the school would confiscate in a moment, if they only knew she had it.
She reached in first for the jewelry. A tiny silver cross, a near-duplicate of Buffy's, given to her by Xander the summer she started training with them. She held it up to the artificial light, tilting it to watch the delicate filigree glint.
"Looks pretty straightforward, but up close it's a complicated little sucker," he had told her, fastening the clasp as she lifted the curtain of her hair out of his way. "Reminded me of you." She'd worn it constantly until September, when she'd tucked it away in its little velvet box, to be hidden away. She hadn't wanted to be complicated any more.
Next came a charm bracelet. That one had been her own idea, though the clerk looked at her strangely when she requested twelve crucifix charms, each of a slightly different design. He'd explained that they'd take a while to be special-ordered. She told him that she'd always wanted to be a nun. The sale had been completed in record time.
She bypassed the other jewelry; she'd bought dangly cross earrings on a whim one day, thinking that they'd be a good strategy to deter bites, but a couple of days later Buffy had come back from patrol with her ear ripped and bleeding. Apparently a demon's claw had gotten caught on her huge hooped earring and torn it right out. Dawn shivered. Slayers heal quickly; sisters-of-Slayers don't. The earrings had gone unworn for the past year.
Next, a couple of stakes shoved in cargo pockets, one strung through the belt-loops at the small of her back. An especially long, thin stake she slid up her left sleeve, through a hole she'd ripped between the lining and outer layers of the fleece. She pulled it out experimentally a few times, testing the edges, but no splinters caught or snagged. Satisfied, she went back to her stash. She'd converted two tester perfume bottles into holy-water atomizers, and she slipped them into the pockets of her fleece. Couldn't hurt to try.
And one more thing. Dawn gingerly dug to the bottom of the box, displacing all sorts of paraphernalia, until she found what she was looking for. A tiny leather holster, with a long, sleek tube fitted inside. She pulled the switchblade out of its holder, snapping it open and waving it about a couple of times. A last resort, but she felt better with it; she knelt and bound the entire apparatus to her calf. Right calf, unfortunately, but she still tugged the straps tight across her shin. She pulled her pant leg over her switchblade and boot, straightened up, and looked at the clock. Five twenty. Just enough time, she thought.
She'd watched Buffy get ready for patrol for long enough to notice one thing: her sister never, ever went out without makeup. Dawn's friends didn't wear much makeup in New Hampshire, but she made the most of what she had. A little blush, some tinted lip gloss – hey, better than the usual ChapStick, she mused – and some eye makeup. She glanced at herself in the mirror again. Interesting. She looked frighteningly normal, for what she was preparing to do.
She picked up her Poland Springs squirt bottle and quickly drained it, shaking out the last drops with unsteady hands. A brief visit to the campus chapel should do the trick, she thought. The basin just inside the doors would be more than adequate for her purposes, and Father Howard would be in the faculty dining room until six. She exhaled a couple of times, steadying her nerves. She felt horribly under-prepared, going out with only a squirt bottle in her hands, but this wasn't home. People would ask questions if they saw a girl on the street with a battle axe. She'd have to go as she was. Right. She nodded decisively at her reflection, shut off the dim light and opened the door.
She jumped back immediately, her hand flying to her cargo pocket as the backlit figure in the doorway paused, fist upraised. She squinted, her eyes adjusting to the light, half-crouched and waiting.
"Dawn?" Sean gasped, his hand falling to his side. He stepped back as well, and Dawn realized that he'd been about to knock when she'd come bursting out of the doorway. He was also clutching something to his chest, she noticed. She was suddenly aware of her posture and straightened up, casually slipping her hand out of her pocket.
"Oh my god, Sean! You startled me!" she said weakly, backing up some more. The box. She'd forgotten about the box. She smiled at him as she quickly folded it back up, zipped it back into the rolling suitcase and slid the entire thing under her bed. He ventured into the room hesitantly, too busy scrutinizing her to notice her actions.
"Sorry. I, uh, thought you were sick," he said feebly, holding out a slightly-crushed grilled cheese and a bottle of ginger ale. "Alicia said that it might be okay if I checked up on you," he quickly added, blushing a little.
"Oh, I was – sick, that is – I feel a lot better now, though. Twenty-four hour bug in half the time or something." Dawn bit back a grin. He was adorable, trying to be cool… but the clock already read 5:35, and she was running out of time. She stepped forward and took the proffered food, smiling shyly.
"That was so sweet of you – can I eat it when I get back? I was just about to take off, there's this thing I have to do…" she trailed off, looking at him regretfully. Of all the nights for him to make a move. Seriously.
"Yeah – I mean, the grilled cheese might not do so well in the fridge, but…" Sean's brow wrinkled as he watched Dawn stow the food in the fridge under her bed, but gamely went on. "Actually, I was thinking…"
"Yeah?" Dawn grabbed her keys and a ten-dollar bill off her bureau and stepped out of the door. Sean followed her out and she pulled the door shut behind them.
"I know the Empire's only showing old musicals right now, but there's this other theatre over in Concord – it has all of these art house movies that wouldn't really get to the multiplex. Not because they're dirty or anything," he added hastily, "They're just a little out of the mainstream." He straightened up, grinning nervously. "You want to go sometime? Together?"
"Sure!" Dawn bubbled. She giggled up at him, and he exhaled, looking very relieved.
"Excellent! You wouldn't believe how long I've wanted to ask, but with everyone there…" He reached a hand forward, and Dawn suddenly remembered the stake up her sleeve. She darted sideways, and Sean pulled his arm back abruptly and shoved his hands in his pockets. Back to secrets again, she thought ruefully, then scrambled to make up the damage.
"No, no way I'm giving you this bug, not if you're going to take me out this weekend!" she said apologetically, backing further down the hallway. "But I should be okay by… Friday good with you?"
"Yeah! Friday's great!" Sean beamed at her, a little confused, but happy. Dawn gave him a final wave before breaking into a run down the hallway and disappearing into the stairwell.
"Strange girl," Sean muttered to himself, turning and strolling back to his room. A brilliant smile lit up his face. "But MY strange girl."
TBC
